#Organic Coffee Market price

[amalashuor]

Things that were and had suddenly changed:

When cooking oil ran out from the market, we replaced it with ghee as an alternative. So the price of ghee increased ten times. When they hoarded sugar, we started to use vanilla extract instead until sugar ran out from the market.Instant coffee is blocked from entering, and the kind that is available is now very expensive. We turned to fresh coffee instead. They started skimping with fresh coffee and its price increased dramatically. Vegetables are expensive and practically nonexistent. We started to depend on canned food. Now the can of spoilt food, peas, beans, fava beans and chickpeas, is 7 shekels (2$)

My friends, I want to clarify something very important to you, which is that all the campaign money is spent and nothing is left. This post shows you the cost of living in Gaza.

Don't look at how much the campaign has earned, but look at how many people it has spent on and how much life costs in Gaza.

Thank you for any assistance you can provide. Time is of the essence! ❤️‍🩹🙏

@fairuzfan @el-shab-hussein @fairuzfan @90-ghost @feluka

@schoolhater @jehadism @irhabiya @sayruq @sar-soor

@mrala @scodoz @youngmanhattanite @clientsfromhell

@wlwaerith @miametropolis @jujusjunk @tamarrud

[tojisun]

the hand that feeds you

— “i take care of her, s’all.”

johnny mactavish x f!reader

cw: 18+ work - minors dni; age difference; daddy issues (kinda the central plot); cooking as a love language; slow burn but in high speed; a breath of angst; power imbalance; canon divergence - regular/non-military life au // amazing divider by @gildui! // 6.5k words

extra notes: this is a very self-indulgent work. there are holes in the plot, 100%, so ignore those holes pretty pls </3 also ik this is more of a captain johnny-verse but midway through, i started projecting so i might’ve written him incorrectly and im really sorry for that!!

being roommates with johnny is not as weird as it is; he’s amicable, at first, then full blown nice when days passed. he’s not loud, per se, but there’s always a constant chatter streaming from his space, like he physically can’t sit still through the silence which is great because you don’t fare any better with the stillness too, so reminiscent of how it was in the suburbs.

you moved to a neighbourhood just skirting past the inner city just because it’s a lot cheaper. but even then, rent was always high and your little box in a rundown complex wasn’t going to sustain you forever even if you wished it would. then, an opening in johnny’s townhouse was posted, almost half-price than whatever is up in the market, and it’s great despite your skepticism. hell, it’s more than great — it’s lifesaving.

your shitty job at the bookstore really can’t cover much of your expenses anymore, and sure student loans and the grant is great, but the growing debt makes you wince so it’s whatever at this point. you’re about to graduate soon anyway, pooling work experience from volunteering and club organizations, and it’s not like you can even go back to how it was.

(underway to law school, primed up before your father’s scrutiny but the burnout got to you before you could even write the LNAT. you realized that being a barrister wasn’t really what you wanted so you changed programs, midway, and switched to children’s education.

god, the disappointment in your pa’s eyes was so big, you knew to pack your shit before he could even kick you out.)

it’s… tough.

god, is it tough. none of your old friends and colleagues could stay in contact, which you don’t hold against them because most of them, by now, have graduated and entered law school. you’re straggling about two years back because of the switch in programs, and everything’s gone too tight. your budget. your social life.

your dating life.

johnny often distracts you from it all — he works in downtown, in one of those high-rise buildings often reserved for limiteds or holding companies, and has to travel off the city every three months. he makes good money, he said jovially, and you know it’s a nudge as to why your portion of the rent is cheap in the first place.

when you finally bit the bullet and asked why he put up one of the rooms in the market, johnny just shrugged and said he needed someone to house sit but sort off permanently. said something like last time he left, the pipes bursted and he couldn’t really fly back to help with the repairs.

it’s great being with him. he’s bright and bubbly, but also dependable in ways you never really thought about. like—

well, it’s all mundane things so listing them feels embarrassing, and it makes you feel as though you’re a touch-starved damsel and johnny just so happened to be the next older man to give you any attention and his time. but you can’t help it. god, you can’t help preen at the way he exists beside you.

he’s just so… beautiful, is what it is.

rugged and charming and loud and filling. the townhouse is too big for the two of you, but johnny makes it work. makes it feel like the two of you just fit into each other’s spaces.

early mornings are spent with him lilting between english and scottish, his exhaustion plastered onto him even after he’s downed two cups of coffee. he bumps his hip onto yours when he ambles out to prepare for his work, grumbling something like good morning and how’re you. afternoons are more lively and productive; it’s of you coming back from campus at six in the evening only to find him in the kitchen, fixing up dinner. it’s always something fancy and rich in flavour; something he always eats with wine on the side.

you, uh, you never thought he could actually cook, let alone feed himself well, but there he was, always a plate ready for you too like it’s expected that you’ll eat dinner with him. like spending time with him was just natural — the sky is blue, the ocean’s deep, and you and johnny fall into each other like there is an invisible string pulling you close to him.

it’s a beautiful change of pace, and there are more days now when you can breathe in a little easier, and you know it’s all because of johnny. it’s all him who pulled you out of your slump and out of that darkness and gave you the room, literally, to grow.

he’s beautiful, but you’ve said that already, haven’t you? he’s just… so good to be with.

then, johnny began picking up and bringing some home.

.

the first time it happened was shocking, really.

you had an early morning, something that’s so murky now in your memories so you’re unsure if it was anything uni related or work related, just that it was five in the morning and you were clambering downstairs as quietly as you could. you rounded the length of the hallway from the platform to the kitchen when you ran into someone.

“steady,” she’d said, voice hoarse and loud in her shock too.

you yelled, jumping, arms swinging because was there an intruder, and it took johnny physically subduing you for you to calm down. looking back now, you burn in embarrassment, but then you had been so worried, your body wound up so tightly in your fear.

“shh,” johnny had murmured with that wry grin. “s’just me, lass.”

your eyes danced between him and the brunette — pretty even in her rumpled shirt, with long legs and a small waist — trying to understand what was going on. you are sure johnny had told you before that he wasn’t seeing anyone so who—

“your girlfriend?” she asked johnny, turning to him with her lips pursed and her brow cocked up.

the question settled in your stomach, doing wonders to your already-fragile psyche. you’d just spent hours thinking about johnny and what he meant to you; what living with him meant. how it eased up something carved within the trenches of your being, like you’d always been waiting for someone like him.

the question was a reminder, like prickling you with icicles, leaving you to navigate the swoop. but johnny had laughed, nothing mean but so dismissive that you felt the curl of shame brandishing from the base of your spine like johnny was laughing at you.

“oh, nah,” he replied, arm still slung over your shoulders. “she’s sorta my ward, yes? i take care of her, s’all.”

that’s all. you’re nothing more to him but a ward. a tenant. not even a friend—

she hummed, then leaned over to kiss johnny, her eyes still drawn to you like she’s watching, waiting for a reaction, and when she got none, she trudged to the door. you and johnny watched as she bent down to slip in her shoes, some stilettos with red bottoms, before wordlessly disappearing into the darkened morning.

“pretty,” you chirped, trying to break the tension of whatever that was.

johnny laughed in that way that surely crinkled his eyes, only to steer the conversation away by asking why you were up early. you remembered what you had to do and you dived to the kitchen in a flurry, chatting about the deadlines and due dates — so it was a school thing — and johnny just watched, silent, humming, eyes still curved in his glee.

you left no sooner than his… paramour did and, for a while, that was that.

but your semester is coming to a close and your schedule is changing, but so is johnny’s. he’s coming home later and later, but always seemed to offer apologies in the form of easy-to-microwave meals for your dinner. they’re still homemade, probably cooked up in the morning before he left for work, and you’d messaged him to say that he didn’t need to worry about you. that, sure, you came to him amidst financial struggle, juggling work and school, and trying to decide if you would have to starve this month because of rent, but you can cook. for yourself and for him too.

johnny’s face did a terrible thing when you mentioned that in person, the first in a while after things got hectic.

“what,” you bit out, embarrassed.

“nothing,” he said, blinking like he was realizing things he shouldn’t. “s’fun doing things f’r you.”

then he clamped up, spooning soup into his mouth, some of it messily dribbling into his chin. it’s not like you were doing any better, with how your throat closed up at his words, eyes going wide.

it’s been a thing, is what it is, but neither of you two have ever acknowledged that it’s a thing. it’s been a wordless experience — of johnny taking over things when it comes to the house because of course he will, it’s his home, but he always covers things for you too. things you’re sure normal landlords don’t really worry about, but not johnny.

there’s always extra food in the kitchen, extra blankets when the weather dips. there’s even a new cooling machine for the summer even though you know johnny’s room already has an installed air conditioning. he’s even changed the seats in the dining room because he caught you once hitting your hip after an all-nighter on a project.

then, he refurbished the den to make it your office.

“you didn’t have to,” you told him, mind racing at your savings, wondering if he was going to increase your rent.

johnny just shook his head with an almost fond roll of his eyes and clapped your back, arm hovering there. “s’all yers, hen.”

everything he did always accounted for you. so why the women?

they’re all long limbed and trimmed waist, with eyes that sparkled even when all you’ve seen of them is always within the poorly-lit hallway. they have voices that curl teasingly, breathy like they’re enticing johnny for one more night. and they’ve always, always, treated you like a—

like a kid.

a burden, almost, of johnny’s.

and, hell, maybe you are. johnny’s almost twice your age; he’s also already well-established in his career, some senior position that you can’t really follow but one he talks about with fondness. he’s got land rover-money, the car in his garage big and black and almost military grade, and it looks so expensive especially beside the crappy civic you were able to snag for a cheap price because it’s got about three-hundred-thousand mileage already.

you’ve got nothing to give him, other than the lousy rent payment that he doesn’t even really need but is just asking for courtesy because it’d be so weird for him to offer a room, or two now given you have the den too, for free. you’ve got nothing on your name, and if it isn’t pity that makes johnny care for you, then you don’t know what.

maybe his string of one-night stands are right — you are just a kid.

that maybe you really are still too wet behind the ears for the real world that you go running to the next person that could protect you from it, stumbling into his life and licking up every drop of his attention, mistaking his kindness for devotion. his care for love.

.

you should have known, then, that the thoughts would ripple, leaving you to feel like the days are unnavigable. obsession quickly took root, growing fangs, and it ensnared you; a vice noose at what had been a pleasant coexistence.

hell, you can barely stand being with johnny because of the jealousy. it’s a shameful thing, but a part of you thinks you deserve johnny more than the others do.

you tell yourself that nobody knows about johnny’s nightmares and the horrors that spill from his lips when it’s twelve in the morning and the two of you have hit the bourbon. you tell yourself that nobody knows about johnny’s aversion to the windows in the living room; that the reason why the curtains are a deep green is not to match the new plants he’s allowed you to fill up his home but because they shroud the panels more than the cream ones had. you tell yourself that nobody knows that johnny can sing; that he can cook a mean tomahawk; that he likes reading; that his wrists were hurting so he’s currently scheduled for a surgery; that he’s soft to you.

the women don’t know this johnny, you tell yourself, nails clawing at the hems of your chest. they don’t know him the way i do.

it’s a pathetic whisper. it’s so laughable. so juvenile.

they’re right. they’re right.

(you’re just a—)

“i don’t see you anymore,” johnny murmured one morning, when things have gone quiet again, a cup of coffee sitting on the counter while he watches you throw orange peels into the garburator.

he just got back from a work trip in aberdeen, his exhaustion loud on his face. his hair is overgrown, the bottom ends of his mohawk curling along his nape. he was there for over three weeks, skirting almost close to a month — the longest he’s ever been away — and you had tried so hard not to message. not to drop casual check-ins because you’re sure no tenant ever does that to their landlord, but johnny had remained just as friendly; asking things like if you wanted another potted plant, a monstera or a dragon tree, or if you still had that swiss chocolate he brought home as a gift, or—

the list of his questions grew, but you’ve given him clipped replies, not knowing how to act right anymore since your quiet realization. even the “thing” that you thought you shared with him had fizzled at the drop of the women coming-and-leaving, and you are left to pick up the pieces.

it’s not like you’re broken or ruined or angry. god, no you aren’t.

but you feel unsteady, like now that you know that you liked him more than he liked you, you forgot how to breathe. how to live without that looming burden because your affection is nothing but a burden.

what will johnny do if he finds out? you can’t afford a new place to move into, not when you’re so close to graduating, the finish line just about to graze your very fingertips with how near it is. money is still tight, and johnny has already spoiled you rotten. has shown you how it is to live a comfortable life. and if he learns of your feelings, you would lose this. more than anything, you would lose him.

so you detached yourself from the noose, curling into yourself and using his work trip as a way to move on.

jesus — move on, huh? like there was a ‘you and johnny’ to even move on from. like there was anything there to read. like there was anything there to pull away from; twitching fingers drawing back into the spaces of your ribs, tucking yourself away from his warmth.

“i’ve been so busy, john,” you muttered, just as tired.

“yeah?” he said, still light. still jovial. “let me cook something nice for ye, huh? reward yer hard work and all.”

“i can’t.” you swallowed down the prickle lodged in your throat, eyes ducking away to avoid seeing his. “i’ve got a meeting with the club.”

(you missed the way johnny’s smile dipped.)

“oh,” he said.

you shrugged, internally wincing at your weak attempt at being normal, before gathering your thermos and your messily-wrapped sandwich. johnny was still standing by the counters when you turned around from the sink, his bulk so close to yours in ages. it had been so long since you could just reach over and feel his warmth; feel the soft pudge of what once were hardened muscles.

he’s looking at you with such sad eyes that it’s jarring to truly see because he’s looking at you like—

like he’s losing you.

“i’m gonna…” you trailed off, not really knowing how to end this truly awkward interaction.

“yeah, f’course,” he croaked out. “take care of yerself huh, lass?”

“thanks.” the smile on your face felt more like a grimace. “see you.”

he said nothing more after that, his eyes still searching; still furrowed like something’s changed and something’s happening, and it made your stomach drop because please. please don’t let him notice.

but johnny just watched as you went, his coffee all forgotten.

(something bloomed in the soft press of your heart, flickering like a young ember. you’ve never realized how longing could feel like your mouth is stuffed with cotton.)

.

johnny hasn't picked up since his return from aberdeen.

they’re getting a new firm so the shuffling has been brutal, leaving johnny to clamber out at five in the morning before coming back home when it’s pushing 11pm. the scruff on his face is becoming more unkempt, salt and pepper becoming more intense, but even then, he’s never looked more ruggedly beautiful as he is now.

it’s like he’s aged years and you shouldn’t be reacting so strongly to the change, but looking at johnny now makes you ache in a different way — core throbbing, throat parched and eyes stinging as you watch him. you’re so drawn to his gravitational pull, unable to detangle yourself now that it feels like he’s more back in your life than he ever was.

and you know it’ll end up hurting you. that you’ll go back to isolating yourself at the drop of a new girl in the house, the smell of her chanel or bvlgari perfume filling up the crevices that you’ve dutifully dusted every saturday morning while johnny’s out for a run. he’s made having casual lovers a cycle, one that you cannot blame him for because johnny doesn’t like you back.

but johnny’s been so attentive to you these days. he’s been a hovering presence even when he looks like he’s one blown wind away from passing out in his exhaustion, his warm hand always on the small of your back as he walks you to the door before chirping a hearty, “kick ass, bon!”

he’s back to fixing up food for you, like that blip in your schedule got him all creative because now, it’s not even just dinner. you’ve got breakfast waiting for you in the microwave, and packed lunch already in your bag, carefully tucked beside the manila folders and plastic envelopes for your capstone. it’s like he’s making up for something which is dumb and wrong because now, you’re all swooping stomach and prickling lungs.

“yummy?” johnny asked, catching you wriggling in excitement at the flavour bursting into your tongue.

your cheeks tingled, feverish, before giving him a shy nod.

he huffed, something so achingly fond, and rested his chin atop his crossed arms. you didn’t know what to focus on — the scruff on his face or the hard lines of webbing veins spilling from beneath his folded sleeves. then, he crooned, “good. that’s good.”

you ran upstairs to your room, throwing an excuse about finishing up your paper, before locking the door, and feeding your cunt two fingers to satiate the burn. the stretch was delicious, raw and sweet, and you humped your wrist, trying to douse the flames burning you up.

you thought of johnny, of the way he looked and how much nicer he’s been; of johnny and the way he was so kind to you, so caring like you’re up in his priority list again, overtaking his busy schedule and the firm restructuring, and his needs.

your orgasm felt like a ripping of reality, your mind splintering at the edges as you’re stretched thin. it felt like you’ve been pulled taut, then released with a resounding snap. it felt euphoric, like the explosion of something intoxicating. something wickedly addicting.

you knew that this could never be unmade. your affections had grown their tendrils, curling past the quiet admiration and spiralling into something unforgiving. into something greater than yourself.

“fuck,” you had rasped out, eyes prickling with tears as shame rushed into your chest. “fuck.”

you didn’t need this. you didn’t need any of this.

but it becomes a cycle — wash, rinse, repeat.

johnny continues to go unshaven; continues to pour his attention to you. and you soak it up, needy and soft, unable to turn away with your tail tucked between your legs. you fall back to the ease of how it had been, hip bumping his, morning coffee shared in the silence, dinner a filling affair once more. all that’s changed are the lingering looks, the resonating touches.

how johnny’s wide hand falls to the small of your back more often; how his fingers just slots against yours every time he passes you your cup; how his eyes rove over your face, always searching for something you dare not hope for.

the last time he flicked his eyes down to watch the way your tongue lapped at your lips, swiping away at the extra cream, johnny’s pupils had constricted before a quiet groan rumbled from his throat. your thighs had quickly clenched close as heat exploded in the pit of your belly, spreading like wildfire through your veins. the pressure on your nub made you hiccup, like a whine dragging itself from your trachea, and johnny had snapped his eyes back to yours so quickly, it made you heady.

“bon–”

“i have to go,” you murmured, clamouring to shaky legs.

you fucked yourself to a deafening point once more, ears ringing as you squirted, the gush of your slick pushing past your fingers. you had to gnash your pillow cover to muffle the moan rumbling from the base of your throat, trying desperately to be good. to not be heard. to be better.

but johnny’s burning gaze on your lips was seared into your memory, blazing on top of everything, and you imagined—

god, you imagined.

the way he’ll take you — beard rough on your chin, thicker fingers spreading you wider, reaching deeper, before finally filling you up with all of him, bullying the whole length of his cock until he bottoms out.

you pressed on your stomach, dizzy, thinking about how johnny would hit that far. you know he would. the women he’s slept with have told you, anyway, in passing, describing how he was in bed with dreamy sighs like they weren’t still reeking of sex and johnny’s aftershave.

(you still wonder why so many of them were mean, their noses tipped up every time they saw you. they were the ones that johnny chose, the ones who were fortunate enough to have been his lover, so you wonder why they still sought you out like you were competition.)

“johnnyyyy!” you moaned, loud and long, your fingers prodding at your walls, and you knew that you’d regret the wrangled cry later, but you didn’t care then, too busy swimming in the aftermath of your orgasm.

.

but johnny heard it anyway.

he told you that he had heard you. 

it happened so quickly — one moment you were bent over the espresso machine, fiddling with the levers with bleary-eyed attempts, then the next thing you knew was that johnny was crowding you, trapping you between the warm bulk of his body and the counter, his eyes furrowed so deeply which made the lines on his forehead run much deeper.

“whu’?” you asked, blinking tiredly at him.

johnny just did this shaky breath that rattled his whole body, like he was propped up by a couple of sticks instead of his whole mass. the mood shifted with that weak inhale though, and you turned to fully face him, ignoring the beeping machine because johnny was still looking at you with those eyes.

the ones that made you feel seen, read, and laid bare before him. like he could weave his eyes past the fabrics of your shirt to peek into the very jagged shards of your heart and see the cross that you’ve been carrying. like he knew things about you that he shouldn’t.

“johnny?” you prodded again, finding his silence alarming.

“yer too young for me, m’eudail,” johnny finally rumbled out, voice thick and deep.

and it’s—

what.

your mind was pressing into your skull, trying desperately to link your synapses together; for the fog to clear and for your coherence to rise above the pull of drowsiness, but johnny was faster. like now that he’s said the first words, the rest just follow, unstoppable in their force and in their meaning.

“i told myself i couldn’t,” he murmured, still breathing shakily; gaze still too fragile. “that yer lookin’ for nothin’ like me, and that yer just tryin’ to get out there with yer career.”

he lifted a hand, fingers twitching, before balling it back down to a fist.

“told myself i’ve gotta let go. found a way to cope and shit.”

johnny took another ragged breath in, and it startled you into gulping one of your own — you didn’t even realize that you’ve held your breath as he spoke to you, your chest clenching tightly as your mind began to link the passageways together, filling you in on what he wasn’t really saying.

“but carin’ f’you was so easy. christ, it was even delightful, hen.” he chuckled, something that was somewhat raw and pained.

you licked at your lips, blinking wide eyes open. johnny tracked the movement, his nose flaring like you’ve done something more than a subconscious thing, his shoulders going taut.

“i like doing all sorta things for you. liked seeing y’eat what i cooked; liked seeing y’use what i got f’you. liked watching y’come home to me. to me.”

a soft sound echoed between the two of you, and it took you an embarrassingly long time to realize that it was a breathless whimper that petered out from the base of your throat. you didn’t even realize that you’ve curled into yourself, almost like you’re trying your best to shrink before johnny, and johnny crooned.

callused palm cupped the round of your cheek, his thumb swiping just underneath your eye. “told myself yer too young; that surely yer looking for someone closer to yer age, but bon, i heard y’last night.”

you startled in his hold, a quiet gasp piercing through the heat. johnny’s lips danced with mirth.

“s’right. heard a loud thump against the wall and ran upstairs, all worried, but guess my surprise, yes? y’were moanin’ my name so loudly, it’s like y’left yer door open.”

“johnny, i–”

���tell me,” he said, moving closer, his chest pressing against yours. “tell me t’stop, bon, an’ i will. but y’ve got to tell me. y’ve got to push me away.”

you looked at him, your eyes trembling at what he was laying out thickly, and your throat going parched at the blanketing desire rippling from him. there were so many things you wanted to ask, but his breath was tickling the bridge of your nose, dancing so close to the bow of your lips, and your heart ached.

desire coursed through you in waves, dribbling from the cup, and you lurched forward, chasing after his lips.

johnny melted into you. his hesitant touch turned greedier, more possessive, mapping your body and pulling you closer into him. his mouth devoured your own, gulping down the pleased little sighs and keens spilling from your lips. he kissed like a man starved, but you weren’t any softer; all nippy and desperate, fingers digging into his hair and fisting at the thin strands.

it was feverish, almost to a boiling point, and you needed more.

god, you needed more.

“johnny,” you mewled when he pulled away just enough to slide his damp lips along the cut of your jaw. “johnny, need you.”

“christ,” johnny sounded so wrecked, his voice rumbling deeply from where his lips were suckling on the soft curve of your neck. “i’ve been dreaming of this, mo luaidh. i knew i shouldn’t but yer so sweet to me and i– i wanted.” he said that word like it was dirty; like he’d been fighting tooth-and-nail to suppress it.

it made you tremble to hear how johnny desired you just as much. he had always felt unobtainable; always danced too far from your grasp and was always bigger than what you knew you could handle — his lovers had always looked divinely; pretty, yes, but fierce in their own right like they knew how to live without johnny; and you know they could, because they didn’t need johnny the way you do. they didn’t look at johnny like you do, like he hung the stars with those thick and aged hands of his.

but as you stood there, feeling every word punctured onto your skin, you couldn’t help but begin to cry, the tears springing from your eyes to slip down your cheeks. johnny rubbed your back, soothing and gentle. 

“i wanted t’take you – make y’all mine,” he whispered. 

you hiccuped, shaky from the weight of your hunger, and nuzzled close. your hands fell from fisting his hair so you could claw at the sharp corners of his shoulder blades, feeling the muscles there rippling, all taut when he bent forward and kissed you.

“please,” you began, feeling your mind thinning because you wanted more. more. more. more. “i can be– johnny, s’always been you. nobody else but you.”

you tugged him away, cupping his jaw and forcing him to look at you. and god, johnny looked so devastatingly beautiful, his eyes all furrowed and his cheeks all flushed, and his lips spit-sheened.

“fuck me,” you whispered, tired of dancing around.

he groaned, something that sounded so pained, before he was tugging you with him, up the stairs and skirting past your room and into his. 

you’ve never been in johnny’s room before, just as he had never been in yours since you moved in, and until now you still don’t know what you had been expecting upon walking in, but the smell of johnny wafting through was almost gut-punching. he smelled so close, like he was everywhere — surrounding you from the ground-up, dousing every pore with him until even your mouth felt full.

and johnny, he smelt like home. 

there were no more words uttered as he stripped you off your pyjamas, sure fingers making their way down the buttons, unlatching them from the hemmed slits. you watched with heavy eyes, blinking slowly like everything had been wrung out of you, leaving you pliant and soft. johnny hummed, appreciative, and mapped kisses from your heaving chest, teeth nipping at the fat, before moving on, sprinkling every expanse of your skin with such reverence. 

your hands were balled to your chest when he reached the jut of your belly, his chin hovering just above your crotch. johnny flicked up his darkened eyes at you, asking silently.

you gave him a nod, not trusting your own voice too.

johnny’s eyes had turned into slits, pleased, and hefted himself up just enough to be able to fit his hands on your hips and tugged your pants down. you shivered, the warmth in his room not enough to suppress the winter chill, and it made you buck into him. johnny comforted you with a quiet shh, rubbing his palm on the pudge of your thigh in soothing circles.

you don’t know why that touch was what did it for you, but soft sobs finally spilled from your mouth, scrunching up the desire into something undeniably frail. johnny didn’t startle though, like he knew that you had been wounding up to this tipping point, and instead continued to touch you tenderly, almost like if he could, he would cradle you close. 

“i love you,” you said, sniffling, because that was the crux of your vulnerability, right?

you love him. god, you love him. 

you’ve loved him since the day he sat you down for dinner and told you that you’ve got nothing to worry about, not anymore and not with him around. you’ve loved him since the day he flipped the den so you can have your own space for work; don’t mind the fact that he didn’t know if you were going to even stay, just that he insisted that you deserved that room either way. you’ve loved him since that swiss chocolate, since that cup of coffee, since he’s begun filling your painfully lonely days with his care. 

you’ve loved him since and now—

“oh, mo graidh,” johnny breathed out. “i love you too.” he kissed your thigh, scruff ticklish. “gu siorraidh is gu brath.”

you wanted to ask what that meant but johnny was already moving, sitting back up to strip out of his own shirt. you trailed your eyes down his body, capturing your trembling lips between your teeth at how breathtaking he was — soft with fat but still heavy with muscles, fuzzy with hair with the smattering pooling just underneath his belly button before trailing down to where they were hidden underneath his pants. 

you twitched before finally braving enough to reach out and brush your knuckle over the indents of his softened abs. johnny hummed, something that curled with appreciation, before covering your hand with his and holding it there. 

“all of me s’yers, hen,” he said with such finality that you felt it settle deep within the marrows of your bones. 

you nodded, emotionally spent and johnny lilted something else in scottish, so soft that it was almost a croon. you let him manhandle you — pushing your hips up so he could slot a pillow under for your back; you were so malleable to his touch as he took over, bending once again for a kiss while his fingers danced past the laces of your panties and into the damp heat of your pussy. 

you moaned, eyelashes fluttering when he pressed one in, so careful and slow, but you were so wet that it slid in with no resistance, gobbling it up knuckle-deep. johnny had groaned like he could feel your rising euphoria, before nosing along your temple as he wiggled the finger around, stroking at your walls. you wondered if he was going to tease but then he was pulling it out, only to plunge two in the next thrust, curling and stretching, and oh—

oh, ssss’good.

you don’t even remember how long he’d been spearing you with his thicker fingers, rough and long and reaching far, far deeper than you could with your own, but you laid there, sobbing, feeling your slick slip out, pooling, making a mess of your thighs and his sheets. johnny had moved from suckling on your neck to taking a nipple in his mouth, teeth softly gnashing at the bud. you felt like you were on fire, burning from your core, aching for a release. 

“cum f’me, m’eudail,” johnny groaned, breathless himself, his cock poking underneath his boxers, the fabric all wet from where his tip was, leaking pearled pre-. “let me see you.”

“johnny, i’m gonna– i’m–!” you squealed, legs jumping, squeezing johnny’s sides as you jolted, hips twitching at the bloating ecstasy. johnny just pushed down on your thigh, not letting up with the pace of his fingers. he was fucking you so hard that his hand’s slapping against your skin, his palm grinding down on your clit just right, and the pleasure sizzled into something biting. into something that was almost painful.

it was catastrophic, pulling you into two directions. johnny’s everywhere — his scent in your lungs, his fingers deep in your pussy, his mouth hot and wet on your tits, and like this, like this, you felt yourself breaking. 

ripping—

then, your orgasm was punched out of you. 

your senses had gone awry — throat throbbing as you cried out, your eyes going blind as they rolled into your skull at the final curl of johnny’s fingers. white noise filled your ears, and it was like you were submerged underneath water, wading through the crashing tides of your climax.

you came back to johnny peppering your face with soft kisses, whispering something you couldn’t decipher past the croon of your name and something like you did good and so beautiful. he’d already pulled his fingers out, and used both arms to cradle you close. you felt so empty — god, that wasn’t even his cock, yet — but your body thrummed pleasantly, almost like the itch was finally scratched. 

“johnny?” you puffed out, voice all scratchy and weak. 

“i’m here, bon. i’m here.”

you hummed, curling into his chest, head pillowed by his arm. you wanted to ask what about his own euphoria, but johnny seemed so content just laying there with you, not really desperate or needy, so you let it go, losing the battle against your drowsiness before finally slipping into a quiet sleep. 

.

johnny’s there for your graduation, carrying a big bouquet of only eden roses. you didn’t even know that those particular ones were expensive until someone from the graduation party oohed and aahed to their friend. 

your cheeks burned when their friend chirped, “well someone’s clearly loved.”

you know that what they said would have had johnny agreeing loudly if he was allowed in the lineup because he is never one to be shy about what he feels; or not anymore, anyway. he loves so fully and openly that you still wonder why it took the two of you so long to get together, but the days since then had just been kind and filling that you have long forgotten how it was to not be with him. 

they’re going to call your name soon, and your stomach swoops, excitement and anxiety mixing in a dizzying tandem. 

you’re graduating with a bachelor’s degree in psychology and a diploma in early childhood education, and this is not where you thought you would be when you first started university, but it’s the happiest you have ever been. and sure much of your poli-sci courses were scrapped when you changed majors, and that’s also a lot of money wasted, but you have three job opportunities lined up already and it’s like the seismic shift in your life had finally corrected itself. 

(your mom said she’s sorry that she and your pa couldn’t come, but you’ve stopped longing for their acceptance and told her it was fine.

there’s a date saved in your calendar, though, for a brunch with her and that was enough.)

you ducked into johnny’s arms when the graduation ceremony ended, careful of the bouquet he’s holding. 

“congratulations, bonnie,” he says, a hearty laugh rumbling from his chest. “christ, i’m so, so proud of you.”

you never pegged yourself for a crybaby, but tears begin to pool in the corners of your eyes at the weight of his words. 

“thank you,” you reply, soft and raw, and honest. 

johnny pulls you in, his lips warm as they’re pressed on your forehead. 

and this, just like this, you know things will only get better from here on out. 

[starandcloud]

John "Soap" MacTavish Headcannons

This man can SPRINT in heels I will die on this hill

If it wasn't for the military, he'd sleep until noon

Probably work a nightshift too

He needs coffee to function, if he doesn't have coffee he's a grouch

Takes his time waking up, not an early bird

He needs like five alarms to wake up

Bathroom first kind of person

Sometimes takes a shower in the morning, depends on if he didn't the night before

COFFEE and juice

Sweet tooth, a horrible sweet tooth

Chocolate chip pancakes are his go to, or whatever the canteen has tbh he's not that picky

He sleeps in whatever, or just his boxers does not care-

He does not dress up, he's in a uniform and looks presentable 9/10 out of ten. He's in a t-shirt and sweats when he's not deployed

Takes a shower every night, sometimes multiple times in the same night if he still feels grimey after the first one

He doesn't take baths often, but when he does it has bubbles and a rubber duckie. He likes the simple things in life guys

He likes simple scents, nothing complex

He hates 3-in-1

He likes Mint toothpaste

He eats when he can, but has pocket snacks

He loves home cooked meals

He likes smoothies, the purple ones (that he can never remember the name of) he gets from a smoothie shop are his favorites

He never makes meals for later, he's not that organized-

Rarely has leftovers

Get's fast food once in a blue moon

Doesn't eat out much, unless it's a special occasion

He does most of the chores, he has a specific way he does things

DESPISES dishes, hates the feeling of the food being squishy and soft under his fingers

IMMEDIATELY washes dishes after using them

Does have a "laundry chair" but it doesn't last long tbh

Makes his bed in the morning, military taught him well

Has a car, but that's about it

Owns a car, but it's this little puddle hopper and it's beat up- He could afford a better car, but he's deployed a lot so he probably won't buy one

He literally takes his car through the biggest puddles ever, just to see the water arch. He's easily amused

Hates boats, especially after Graves

He has an Android

Special ringtones for everyone he cares about

He has it silenced 9/10, he silences it for missions and forgets to unsilence it

He has candy-crush on his phone and I will stand firm on this

He has the basic lock and home screens

He has snapchat but uses it for the filters, also has facebook for market place and Tiktok for the car videos

He has a few followers on Tiktok

He can block someone easy

He posts his cooking fails online

He probably has angered the baking/cooking niche online A LOT, dude probably has callouts from five years ago because he doesn't care-

He sleeps whenever, but totally has sleeping meds for his PTSD

He can either be up all night or in seconds, depends on how tired he is tbh

He's a light sleeper

He talks in his sleep, but it's mostly mumbles

Has nightmares more often than not

Has a bit of light from his TV, finds it hard to sleep without it

Sleeps with every window and door locked

Has his bed in the corner of the wall, hard to be attacked from both sides

His handwritting is damn near impossible to understand, sometimes Price has a hard time deciphering it

He's an outdoorsy type

The first memory is of being with him mom at a fair

He likes bread, just bread ;-;

He listens to literally everything, except classical it puts him to sleep

Very Artsy

He has Bachlers degree

He loves cats, and has one at his moms

Struggles with gifts tbh

He went from the tallest in his family, to the one of the shortest on his team

He's huge on physical touch, especially with his partner

He said something that made Ghost stop in his tracks once, and then ever did again. It was so stupid it was smart

Soap is so fucking sociable it honestly annoys Ghost

He really wants to get married, but doesn't want to put the stress of him always being deployed on his spouse and he doesn't want to die on them

He's allergic to Buckwheat, Shellfish, Balsam of Peru, Tegretol, and Cosmetics

Whenever something traumatic happens he shrugs and goes: "Well that happened" and goes on with his life

He has a lot of scars, mostly from war itself most of them are on his upper arms but some are on his chest and forearms

He has a scar from getting a gash on his leg when playing when he was a kid, he needed A LOT of stitches

He has one that looks like a cresant moon on his right hand ring finger

He honestly doesn't mind when people trace his scars, it's kinda soothing

A little kid once asked about one on his chest, which he got when a bomb went on prematurely, and he said he got it from a T-Rex to entertain the kid.

That was also when he decided he wanted kids, when the kids eyes blew open wide and they bounced on their toes asking more questions. Which he provided absurd answers until the kids mom rushed over and apologized

The one on his chest was from a near-death experience, learned really quick how to run really really fast

He holds his partner close during cuddling, if their back is against his chest his face in buried in their neck. If he's laying on top of them, he has his head against their stomach and his arms protectively around their waist, or if his head is on his lap he just gently holds them and usually falls asleep

He's close with all of his family but is 1n00% a momma's boy

He stims by making faces, which is slightly weird if you don't know him wel

[haledamage]

Bag of Tricks Books is one of Port Townsend's best kept secrets. It's located on the ground floor of a two-story red brick building, on one corner of a crossroads at the southern edge of town. It shares a wall with a newly-opened tattoo parlor--both shops also share the underutilized second floor, as well as a door directly leading from one shop to the other--and shares its intersection with a florist, a bed and breakfast, a new age store, and a butcher shop that gets steady business regardless of the sign claiming that it's been closed for renovations for nearly nine months now. Despite advertising itself solely as a used bookstore, Bag of Tricks is equal parts bookshop, coffee shop, and flea market. A constant rotation of items are available for sale or barter, if one has the diligence to find them, scattered about the counter or in the labyrinth of mismatched shelves. Anything from priceless antiques and rare first-edition books to obscure records by forgotten musicians to kitschy knickknacks and out-of-season decorations. All you have to do is name a price that the proprietor agrees to or bring an item of your own that you can convince him is of equal value. It is Edwin's favorite place he's ever been to.

for Day 14 - AU of @deadboyween ❤💙

took a bookstore/coffeeshop au and a florist/tattoo artist au and scrambled it all around. Charles owns a bookshop, Edwin is a tattoo artist, Crystal runs a B&B, and Niko is a florist 😁 Mick, Jenny, the Night Nurse, and the Sprites will also make appearances

[lotstradamus]

inspired by the manchester anon haha but do you have any tips and suggestions for visiting leeds? 🩷

I've lived here for 2 years now (!!!) but somehow I still don't really know my way around and just go to the same 5 places and use google maps to get anywhere else. it's sad. but here's some shit I love:

Grindhouse - cheap drinks, loads and loads of seats, never too full, music a reasonable volume, and they project 80s movies on the back wall. we once sat in here for 2 hours cos Stand By Me was on. one time we watched the bar staff earnestly tell a group of women on a hen do that the bar was closed and they weren't serving any more drinks, at 7:45pm. 10/10.

Rudy's - only 9 cities* in this fair nation have a Rudy's, so I'm going to keep reccing it for everyone else. perfect Neapolitan pizza. *Leeds, Manchester, Sheffield, Birmingham, Nottingham, Durham, London, York, Liverpool - if you live in one of these places and haven't been to Rudy's yet, sort it out.

Neon Cactus - go here on a Wednesday and order wings, and you'll get half price margs. lots of great Mexican scran. don't take anyone too picky or over 50, because the price for the great food and vibes is that at least one thing you order will be incorrect. but roll with it. half price margs, man.

Empire Cafe - book in advance if you want to sample the delights of Empire Cafe, cos there's like 6 tables max. everything is seasonal, changes on the daily, and is insanely delicious. if you want to experience heaven, order the steak and chips with salsa verde. there is NOTHING like it.

Stuzzi - another seasonal, small plate sort of place, but Italian. amazing food and a gorgeous restaurant. go with a big group and order one of everything.

Eat Your Greens - ANOTHER seasonal restaurant! this one is farm-to-fork and organic. I can’t speak to the quality as I haven’t actually been, but I am a frequenter of their GREENGROCER, which is MEGA. last time I think I left with natty wine, pâté, some insane tinned fish, a jar of harissa and a bag of sunset potatoes. if you like food, go here.

SARTO - fresh, handmade pasta and picky bits. another great place to go with a group and order all the starters. I had a celeriac pasta there last year that I think about on a fairly regular basis; I picked it cos it was the weirdest sounding thing on the menu and it was fucking mouthwatering. good quality and good people! and it's next door to The Wardrobe, so perfect for a pre-gig tea.

Santiago Bar - like Grindhouse (alternative, casual) but the music is louder and you'll find yourself doing tequila shots at 1am and screaming along to, like, Don Broco. it's the best.

Blue Collar Boys - as a rule I hate 'vintage' clothes shops (overpriced, ugly, everything is XXS), but this place seems to specialise solely in American t-shirts and sweatshirts from the 90s in exactly my size, and everything is £10. this is amazing and a huge bargain if you find something like vintage Wranglers and a Playboy bomber jacket (£20, my wife) but not so amazing or a bargain if you find 3 t-shirts with holes in (£30, me). we've never been without finding shit we love. they only open on random weekends, and they always seem to have more stuff than they could possibly ever sell. it's a freaky vintage alternate universe.

The Corn Exchange - a big gorgeous ol' building full of little businesses. vintage, handmade, tattoos, coffee, jewellery, independent brands, yarn, shoes, a barbers, a bookshop, they've got it all. very easy to spend £100 and 6 hours. every so often they have a market on the bottom floor. perfect tiny representation of Leeds: quirky, independent, delicious, cool.

Silver's Deli - this is a 9-minute train ride away in Bramley (my ends!) but has become THEE buzzy foodie spot recently. go on a sunny saturday morning (cos you will probably have to sit outside) and order the everything sandwich. thank me later. if they have scotch eggs or sausage rolls on, I beseech you, order both. and if you want the sunday special prepare to get there at 11 and fight.

Against the Grain - if you've come to Bramley for Silver's, you may as well trundle 10 minutes up the road and visit the best bar in Leeds. cosy, casual, full of locals, hidden in Swinnow Mills. it's a sit-around-and-chat-to-people sort of place, with bonus charcuterie boards AND a pizza van on weekends. we are here A LOT, because Gray's Salon and Rose and Thorn Tattoo are both in the Mill, and we give them all our money. oh! and dog friendly. sooo many dogs.

Project House/Galleria - if you've gotten the train out to Bramley for Silver's and ATG, jump on the 72 back to town and get off at Project House to eat MORE food. Galleria is a great place to get breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and Project House has EVERYTHING (depending on the day). yoga! gigs! vintage fairs! a bi-annual tattoo convention meets makers market with food vendors called Hand of Glory! check what's on and head on down to support local!

Kirkstall Bridge Inn - another one local(ish) to me, but worth travelling out of town for; a PROPER pub (i.e. no tv, no sports, no shite) that does roasts upstairs and lets dogs in downstairs. outdoor seating right by the canal, and every so often they put something on and the car park turns into a tiny festival. Kirkstallpalooza is a highlight. great place to finish a nice canal walk (who am I?!).

tl;dr sorry that this is obnoxiously long, I love Leeds

[omgellendean]

Found a great thread on how social assistance denies dignity to recipients.

(copied it here in case it disappeared)

"I came from poverty and very deliberately avoided 'services' and organizations that could have assisted me. I did not apply for social housing. I lived in places that were definitely not up to code. I worked multiple jobs. Just to avoid being part of system for 'poor people.'

"When I became wheelchair user & alone, I was moved into social housing. The day I moved in almost broke me. I never cried about my dx, about my disability, not even about all my savings being gone or any of the rest. But moving becoming "a client" was the line.

"The only way I could breathe is I told myself - and anyone within earshot - that I would be working again and out of social housing in a year. That was 14 years ago.

"I see all these progressives wax poetic about the wonders of social housing and various programs "for the poor." But there is a price that comes with that "help" - we don't 'help' you unless we deem you "helpless."

"The programs in social housing assume incompetence. "Let us teach you how to budget. Let us teach you how to make a boiled egg." The air is thick with the smugness of "helping our lessers." And judgment.

"So I don't know anything about the people who built that home but I understand why it would feel like more of a home than a shelter or a "unit" in the "housing stock" for "the poor." I understand why that feels like dignity.

To become successful at being poor within the system you need to perform acts of gratitude for things you shouldn't have to. You need to self-flagellate. You need to show you are deferential. You need to prove your situation is shitty as it is.

If you fail to prove your situation is as extremely shitty as they require then they will make sure it becomes worse. If you are on benefits you are not even allowed to pay your own rent - the state decides to handle this for you - because again, assumed incompetence.

"I have been offered home care. I declined. At some point i won't be able to decline but home care can act like state surveillance. And it just takes one ableist aid to make a report 'concerned' about something like a coffee burn.

"I was forced to use power wheelchair not manual for years bc an OT saw me struggle first time I transferred onto the toilet in this apt - because the bathroom is inaccessible. Chair moved a bit, I didn't fall but that was enough to override my choice.

"In GF Strong there was another young woman and we both wanted to get rear-drive power wheelchair instead of mid-drive or front-wheel. GF staff strongly discouraged rear-wheel. She was pressured out of it and she kept rooting for me. When I surrendered she couldn't even look at me

"We knew they broke us. We knew in that moment we were 'tamed' - albeit temporarily, as I had a plan to get a wheelchair on my own. I just couldn't handle another conflict with staff, I was already on thin ice fighting not to be sent to a nursing home.

"The idea of having a home - where you are not a client - and there is no 'staff' deciding if you are poor enough - not "too disabled" to be unsafe - no judgment, no surrendering power, self-worth - sounds great to me.

"Incidentally this is also why the proponents of MAID marketing it to disabled poor people as ‘chance to assert your autonomy’ is so deeply and intentionally malicious. It’s a fake autonomy injected into people state deprives of real autonomy.

"Changed who can reply to NO ONE because I really do not want to read about how "these people" should be given a job. These are some of the good ones. Oh yeah, these poor people impressed you. Literally also not the point of the thread. But why start listening to poor people now.

"Will probably delete the thread and also possibly my account.

"OK turns out I want to say a few more things before I decide if I'm leaving this site for good. YOU may be amazed that some poor people did this. I - an actual poor person who lives around poor people - am very much NOT. And the way you are fixating on this like they cured cancer

"Is just the progressive version of othering us. I'm not amazed. Because I know poor people. So no, not amazed at all. That was not the point of my thread. Not even a tiny, little bit. Stop turning these people into some sort of circus freak version of poor people.

"Stop exceptionalizing them. Stop being shocked. Or at least stop fucking doing those things in a poor person's mentions. OMFG I'm here talking about dignity being stripped form us and you want to turn them into your poster child for the sustainability or whatever."

[iboatedhere]

peaches from the June prompts -OR- endless freckles from the Summer List. AU! 🙏🏼

Xx

They’re only three weeks into the season before Alex declares that the man that sells peaches and honey three booths down and across the aisle from him is a real fucking problem.

Alex has been attending the Barton Creek Farmers Market for as long as he can remember, sitting on a stool while his abuela sold agua fresca and horchata in the summer and Mexican coffee and hot chocolate during cool fall mornings.

She’d let him help when he got a little older, taking money and making change, filling cups with ice, and squeezing fresh limes.

He loved being there and spending time with her. She had this way about her, treating first-time customers like old friends and regulars like family. She loved to make people smile. She loved the community. She loved Alex, kissing the top of his head and slipping him twenty dollars, a life-changing amount when he was six, for his hard work.

Then he got older, and other things took precedence. Studying, sports, and girls…he didn’t have the time or desire to get up early on a Saturday morning and sit beneath a tent in one hundred-degree heat.

She said she understood and that he was becoming his own person and finding his path. There were no hard feelings. He still loved her, and she loved him, and he’d still get twenty dollars in a card sent to his dorm at UT at the end of the season.

Abuela passed the winter before he graduated college, and a few weeks after graduation, he got a call from the market organizers asking if he’d be taking over her booth.

“What kind of guilt trip is that?” Alex asked June afterward, tipsy on tequila in his small post-college-pre-job apartment. “She put me down as a contact, she knew that they’d be calling. What am I supposed to say, never mind, let my grandmother’s beloved business fucking rot?”

“I wouldn’t say it exactly like that, but yeah,” June had said. “You’re not under any obligation to continue.”

“If I don’t, then who? You? Dad?”

“No one,” June said. “Sometimes things just end. It sucks, and it’s sad, but it’s the way things go. You should tell them that she loved attending and being a part of the market and that our family appreciates the offer, but you’re not in a place in your life where you can make that kind of commitment. Simple. They’ll understand.”

Alex shook his head. “I can’t do that.”

“Why?”

“Because I already told them I’d be there. The market starts in two weeks.”

That was five years ago.

Now, Alex lives in an understated but pricey loft downtown. He works at a law firm that offers enough pro-bono work that he doesn’t feel like his soul is dying and contemplates going into politics each time a politician does something stupid, which is almost all the time. He dates and hangs out with his friends, and every Saturday morning, from nine to one, he sells drinks to market-goers behind the Barton Creek Mall.

“You’re going to cut your finger off.”

Alex looks down at the cutting board where his index finger is dangerously close to the paring knife he’s using to slice strawberries.

“Told ya,” Nora says from her perch on the stool.

“Fuck,” Alex says as he puts the knife down.

“Please don’t swear,” June says sing-songs through an over-the-top smile as she passes a family with three small kids their watermelon agua frescas. And please don’t cut your finger off.”

“Yeah,” Nora agrees, “the hot paramedics aren’t even working today, so it would be a total waste.”

“Not that he would care,” June says, “he’s been staring at Henry for the past three hours.”

“I have not,” Alex snaps, “and how do you know his name is Henry?”

“Because we’ve actually spoken to him instead of staring at him like a big creep,” Nora says.

“Aren’t you supposed to be helping?” Alex asks.

“I am. I crunched the numbers. Did you know that raising your prices by just ten cents increases your earnings—.”

“No, no,” Alex interrupts, “I don’t want to know, I don’t care. I’m not in it for the money.”

“Everyone is in it for the money,” Nora deadpans. “Even rich lawyers. Hell. Especially rich lawyers.”

“I’m different. This is how Abuela Lina and I’ll continue to do it this way, too.”

“Yeah,” June says, “he’s not here for the money. He’s here to pine from afar over Henry.”

“Would you please shut up,” Alex begs as June and Nora cackle.

“Just go talk to him,” June says.

“And say what? Hey, I work at the booth over there, and I’ve been trying to count the freckles across your nose for weeks now?”

“Oh, yikes,” June says.

“Down bad,” Nora adds with a shake of her head.

“I hate you both,” Alex tells them.

“Just go and bring him a drink,” June says. “Tell him that it’s hot and that you thought he might need it, and don’t you dare come back here without his number.”

“What if he doesn’t want to give me his number?”

“Then you move on and stop mooning over him.” She shoves a cup into his hand. “He seems like a pineapple kind of a guy.”

“You know what they say about pineapple, right?” Nora asks, and Alex grabs the cup and steps out of the booth so he doesn’t have to listen to her.

The peach guy—Henry, apparently—works at Fox Family Farm, or at least that’s what the pale yellow banner with a minimalistic sketch of a fox, its tail curled around a full peach basket, hanging on the front of the booth says.

He’s taller up close, blonder too, and when Alex hovers just a few feet away, he’s shocked at how blue his eyes are.

It’s like he was created in a lab to specifically become Alex’s problem. His very hot problem.

“May I help you?” Henry says in a British accent.

Alex nearly drops the drink.

“Fuck,” he swears as he scrambles to grab it. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not sure you did anything wrong.”

“Right, this is for you,” he says, setting the cup down before he almost drops it again. “I work at the booth over there.”

“Yes, I’m aware,” Henry says, waving at June and Nora, who are crowded close together to watch.

Alex steps into Henry’s line of sight, blocking them.

“I just wanted to introduce myself since it’s obvious I’m the only one who hasn’t.”

“Technically, you still haven’t done that.”

“I’m Alex.”

“Henry.”

“Yes,” Alex says, “I’m aware.”

Henry smiles wide and bright, and Alex guesses that at least two dozen freckles are dotted across his nose and cheeks.

“Can I ask,” Alex starts, “what the hell are you doing in Texas?”

“Would you believe me if I told you that my grandmother passed and left me a peach orchard?”

“No.”

Henry hums. “A shame. Maybe I can take you to dinner and convince you.”

“Wow,” Alex says, “I was sent over here just to get your number.”

Henry grabs a pen and a scrap piece of paper. “I can give you that as well.”

[treethymes]

“In his study of [the international coffee] market, scholar Joseph Nevins finds that the big changes occurring between the mid-1970s and the mid-1990s are related to the “longer-term struggle over the distribution of income related to the crop.” In the early part of this period, growers pulled in an average of around 20 cents for every dollar of coffee revenue. They were aided by an agreement called the International Coffee Accord (ICA) of 1962, which acted as a sort of cartel plan, constraining and arranging supply. In the wake of the Cuban Revolution, the Kennedy administration supported the ICA and its concessions to Third World workers as a Cold War tool to head off communist onshoring in the Western Hemisphere. But as the U.S. strategy changed, the country and its free-market Latin American proxies abandoned the ICA in 1989. The results were quick: By the mid-1990s, the grower share was down from 20 to 13 percent. Roasters, traders, and retailers in the drinking countries improved their share from 54 to 78 percent. That big, fast shift was partly thanks to repressed grower wages, partly thanks to repressed domestic service wages in the West, partly thanks to consolidation in the industry, and partly thanks to new high-priced coffee drinks. Starbucks went public in 1992, and if it seemed to be growing like a tech company in the ’90s, that’s because both thrived on the same social changes.

“Worsening conditions for workers in Mexico and in the rest of the Americas pushed people north, rapidly increasing the undocumented immigrant population in the United States. The Bracero program was over, but the jobs still needed doing. Caught in between employers who were hiring migrants and nationalist restrictionists, the Reagan administration legalized a few million undocumented workers while increasing border enforcement. Even though the vast majority of narcotics came into the country via legal ports of entry, conservatives and liberals alike framed border enforcement as a central front in the war on drugs. Increasing the costs of crossing couldn’t stanch the increase of people—they were responding to larger factors: Out-migration from Mexico’s coffee-producing areas increased after the dissolution of the ICA, for example. This tendency intensified after the North American Free Trade Agreement went into effect in 1994, pushing Mexico further toward cheap manufacturing exports and cheap imported American corn.

“The glut of cheap labor and commodities in this period undermined labor protections in the center as well as on the periphery, and the United States lost union jobs at a rapid clip. Reagan undermined the bulwark of government jobs by bringing Boulwarism to the White House. His signature incident occurred in his first year, when he fired more than 11,000 striking air traffic controllers and decertified their union. To the press, the president quoted an air traffic controller who quit the union and reported to work as ordered: “How can I ask my kids to obey the law if I don’t?” Once again, questions of individual criminality put the Reaganites on firm ground. Organized labor took to rearguard action, holding on to its institutions by agreeing to two-tiered contracts that reduced benefits and protections for new or future members. Capital shook off the midcentury labor agreement like a bad habit, reducing its accountability to its own workers the way it previously reduced accountability to the broader communities. The second part didn’t require as many votes.”

Malcolm Harris, Palo Alto

[fanwer4232]

【Costco’s Brand Secret: They Even Monitor the Size of Cashews!】

Think Costco is just about bulk products at low prices? Guess what—they’re so meticulous they even control the size of their cashews and the number of peels on canned peaches! This isn’t a joke; it’s part of Costco’s genius in balancing quality and affordability. Today, let’s uncover how Costco’s obsession with details and cost-saving tricks turned them into a retail powerhouse! ✨

Kirkland Private Label: Quality, Not Cheapness

Kirkland isn’t your average low-cost brand—it’s the ultimate combination of “low price and high quality.” Every cashew has to be the same size, and every canned peach needs a precise number of peels. Yep, even your canned fruit gets the luxury treatment at Costco!

Where else can you feel like a fruit connoisseur while shopping for canned peaches? 🍑

Membership Program: A Psychological Masterstroke

"Want to shop here? Pay a membership fee first!" That’s Costco’s clever strategy. Their membership program creates an exclusive VIP feeling, and once you join, you’ll think twice before leaving. After all, if you’ve already paid for membership, might as well shop until it’s worth it, right? 💸

Minimal Product Selection, Minimal Advertising: Less is More

Costco’s philosophy is simple: offer fewer products, but make every item count. No need for aggressive marketing—one free sample session can do the trick. Who could say no to buying after enjoying a slice of pizza or a sip of wine? 🍕🍷

And those large bulk packages? Sure, you’re spending more upfront, but the lower unit cost makes it a smart buy. Suddenly, everyone feels like a wholesale expert: “Buying in bulk just makes sense!” 😎

Local Adaptation: From Rice to Organic Groceries

Costco knows how to win over local markets by tailoring their offerings. In Asia, they stock up on rice and seafood; in Europe, it’s all about organic products. No matter where they go, Costco finds a way to thrive. 🌍

Supply Chain Mastery: Running Lean and Passing the Savings

Costco works directly with manufacturers, cutting out middlemen and slashing distribution costs. No fancy shelves or elaborate displays—just stacks of products in a warehouse. It’s simple and efficient.

This lean operation lets Costco pass the savings directly to you. Brutally straightforward? Absolutely! But it’s why you get more value for your money. 🤝

Making Frugality a Lifestyle

Costco’s success isn’t just about bulk purchases or low prices—it’s a reflection of their obsession with quality. They’ve shown us that affordable goods can also be premium, and if a store cares enough to monitor the size of your cashews, why wouldn’t you trust them?

So, the next time you visit Costco, grab a Kirkland cashew jar or a can of peaches—and don’t forget to enjoy a few free coffee samples along the way. Saving money can be fun, and Costco has made it an art! 🎉

Costco: Meticulous to the max, unbeatable on value! 💪

resourse:https://www.expbravo.com/9918/costco-2.html，https://www.epochtimes.com/b5/24/5/11/n14246352.htm，https://www.daybuy.tw/costco/32992/，https://udn.com/news/story/120915/8173436

[fionarara]

HIPSTER KENMA PART 2 WHEN PLEASEEEEE IM OBSESSED

nonni all caps ?? for hipster kenma ?? i thought this idea was an incredibly niche thing in my odd brain which would legit get like zero interaction, i straight up wrote it mostly for myself, so this is a v pleasant surprise (Ｔ▽Ｔ) also, this got longer than expected, but since you requested it with such enthusiasm, i wanted to add in a little extra detail as a treat for you ♡

+ hipster ! kenma . pt. 2 .

(+ part 1 ⇢)

+ hipster ! kenma who feeds his hairless sphynx cat gluten-free food, because he wouldn’t feed his cat a certain diet that he isn’t also on himself

+ hipster ! kenma who thinks much of the fashion industry’s antics are ridiculous for being so overpriced (and that some of their practices can be harmful to the environment), but will drop $375 bucks at a carefully curated, high-end, second-hand designer fashion shop in the arts district on a fresh pair of black jeans, ones that already come pre-ripped and are conveniently labeled as having a 'distressed' look. so edgy. clearly, who needs logical pricing when you can pay a premium to look like you've been through a barbed wire fence? + hipster ! kenma dislikes coffee, because not only is it so acidic on the PH scale, the entire culture surrounding the popular brew (–and yes, he really did call coffee, “the popular brew” when explaining this to you) is so aggressive in prevalent society, as it seemingly promotes an inherent overly capitalist mindset that is so patriarchal. instead, he opts for ~matcha with lion’s mane extract~ for better concentration and whenever he needs a pick-me-up. besides, he prefers things being more chill and calm anyway, and coffee makes him feel too jittery and whacked out + hipster ! kenma doesn’t actually have the best grasp on crypto or stock trading, but from believing and claiming he did, got yaku involved in also investing in that one reddit gamestop stock with him. unfortunately, due to a bad call of not pulling the shares out in time, they lost a considerable amount of money. L. but as short-tempered as yaku used to be, he’s mellowed-out in his older years and only blames himself in the end for even listening to hipster kenma in the first place. anyway it’s cool–when yaku came to visit town from russia, he got taken out by hipster kenma for an evening of partying, all drinks and party drugs on him, as a sort of apology for the risky financial loss—the night ended with the both of them on the floor crying together from reminiscing about past memories and ‘the good ole days’, sheesh + hipster ! kenma who sometimes seems like he hates you, but gets a bit of a kick out of you bringing it up, because whenever you do, he gets to playfully remind you he’s just in resting mode or deep in thought by making the same joke every time, “that’s just my cunty cat face” + hipster ! kenma who is prone to getting some pretty gnarly anxiety at times, so he takes these 15mg edible marijuana gummies to chill himself out. his favorite flavor of THC gummy bear from the packet you gifted him, and which he now regularly takes, is salted caramel and dark chocolate + hipster ! kenma will drag you to see an arthouse docufilm about the music history of video games with modular synthesizers, etc. at this little blackbox theater, complaining that those big blockbuster movie chains are ripping you off by charging way too much for mainstream crap, but then he proceeds to overpay for an overpriced, organic, effervescent, raw kombucha drink once you arrive at the little indie theater (he definitely thinks buying soda at the movie theater is beneath him, “the way i see it, if you want a soda at least make it, like, an actual appropriate setting, go to a carnival and have it with a corn dog.”)

+ hipster ! kenma loves street food. will take you to the local art walk/night market festivals once a month, fascinated by tasting all the different street food vendors and scoping out the community art scene, he’ll even end up treating you with a tasty treat every time from one of the booths. although he doesn’t particularly love overly sweet things, he will especially eat any sweetly-glazed savory snack that comes on a stick. one thing about him that you’ve come to appreciate though is that he doesn’t just gobble down his food, no, hipster kenma actually enjoys taking the time to savor what he consumes while giving insightful commentary on the food’s flavoring, etc. + hipster ! kenma who DIYs…many things, because he figures, let’s be honest, other people can’t be relied upon to make things correctly, not by his standards. especially when it comes to his computer, which of course he built himself: it has a fully transparent case so you can see right through to the whole display of all dazzling gear and deco inside of it, and in his words it had to be, “a state of the art custom loop with full liquid cooling”. you admit the inner flashing lights are pretty and the computer is definitely so decked out, that it's for sure one of the coolest things you’ve ever seen.

+ hipster ! kenma kinda has this weird thing that if he didn’t think of a cool idea for his twitch stream first after seeing it from another popular streamer, then he acts like it’s kinda inherently stupid, mentions how blasé it is to you and his friends, even if deep down he does find the idea interesting or appealing and probably, most definitely, would’ve adopted it himself 

+ hipster ! kenma who can oftentimes hold the belief that adopting a cynical and pessimistic outlook on life makes one more intelligent and analytical, even more sophisticated or enhances his overall cleverness of mind, sad + hipster ! kenma is hot. okay. in such an understated way, which all the more makes him hotter, though he’s not fully aware of his own appeal, or perhaps only mildly—actually attracts a fair amount of bitches when he goes out to the dive bars or local music shows, ones who aren’t intimidated by his sort of mysterious appearance or superior demeanor which is bound to come off a little pretentious, but in truth, he’s actually a bit insecure and shy about being approached so often and therefore tends to stay pretty silent when that happens, unsure of how to fully deal/cope with someone who is being so direct about their interest in him. ultimately prefers the slow get-to-know-you burn when it comes to any romance: a friends first, lovers later kind of thing + hipster ! kenma is incredibly observant, especially in social situations and mostly prefers to just take everything in, only speaking when he has something truly poignant to say … or when an opportunity strikes to completely, calmly, eviscerate someone’s inane or ignorant opinion, delivering a point so smooth, he’ll crush their shitty take all in a such a demure, cool, collected and resolute manner to the point where the dumbass person in question doesn’t even know they’ve been schooled and insulted by him until the roar of jeers and laughter from the surrounding crowd are heckling the unbeknownst fool, sick burn hipster kenma + hipster ! kenma only dares to wear brighter colors when at the beach and the item of clothing is a hoodie (proclaims it’s a light and breathable one though sooo he’s not sure what everyone is making such a fuss over when you, hinata, kuroo and the rest of your beach crew kick up some sand towards him while chiming in unison to urge him to, “take it off! we’re by the ocean, bruh!��) – the brightest colors of those hoodies ever worn at the beach are either a pale mustard, burnt amber, or white with possible cool textile designs. not only that, but he’ll stick to the shade beneath the large beach parasol playing on his nintendo switch, because listen, he isn’t about to get skin cancer on account of the toxic chemicals they put in sunscreen these days just so he can catch some rays (which of course, the sun could also give one cancer) + hipster ! kenma has these annoyingly long pretty dark lashes which are framed so nicely by his non-prescription clear frame glasses, and every so often you will playfully grumble to him about how unfair that is, since he’s a boy and doesn’t even care that he’s got them, then proceed to joke by asking him to give you some of those lashes since he doesn’t in fact need all of them for looks. he’ll respond by lightly chuckling and referencing that one Clockwork Orange film scene where the main character’s eyes are forced to remain horrifically clamped open, slyly suggesting, “if you can manage to get me in a position like that, then and only then, can you have them” but don’t bother, he continues, because you’ll never get past him~~ + hipster ! kenma who, no matter what he seems like on the surface, you know in the end that he’s undeniably ride or die for his friends, 10/10 will always always have their back, willingly giving them a hand without making a big deal of it + hipster ! kenma shelled out quite a hefty price on his ‘Beats by Dre’ headphones, even though as a self-proclaimed audiophile he knows they’re nowhere near being the best on the market, only bought them for the clout, and walks around town wearing them or for his twitch streams + hipster ! kenma secretly cries to bon iver, sufjan stevens, james blake, ryuichi sakamoto, erykah badu, nick cave and portishead when he’s alone + hipster ! kenma watches a looot of documentaries 

+ hipster ! kenma owns this cat shirt ↴ doesn’t wear it out in public though, only to bed, and has had it so long it’s already starting to fray at the sleeves and shoulder's seams:

+link2masterlist.

[thatlittledandere]

On my way back from an anime con (cosplayed Marie) (pics coming after I get them from the photographers) here's some highlights

Three people asked for a photo in my first ten minutes at the venue I'm literally a celebrity Atlus should hire me as a representative

One of them was Yosuke!!!!!!! This is the best thing that has ever happened to me.

I bought a used copy of Kingdom Hearts for the PS2 at a very low price for such a classic because it's missing the manual. God bless sloppy owners, the only defense against the evils of used game sellers.

An Estonian cosplayer/con goer/organizer gave a lecture (for the lack of a better word) on the differences between Finnish and Estonian con scenes. It was fascinating!!

The neverending battle of unstoppable force (my hunt for second hand Vita games which are hard to come by) vs immovable object (my stupidly limited taste making me entirely uninterested in 90% of what I do find) resulted in a rare victory: I bought a mystery visual novel I've never heard of from the flea market. We'll see how it goes.

Standing in line for the flea market I was spotted by an old acquaintance I originally met in Osomatsu-san cosplay circles years ago and haven't talked to in aaaaaages. I've seen her around along the years but haven't had the guts to go talk because she's always super pretty which.. I still see as something "above me" like I'm not allowed to go talk to someone like that like we're still living in middle school social hierarchy lmaoo but luckily it sounds like she was similarly awkward about starting a conversation with someone she's not close to so. Both of us were happy to meet again!! Neither of us is a loser unworthy of such attention. Whew and lmao

Heaven's nectar Calpis Water ♡

A can of good cafe au lait mentally transported me back to spring 2016 in Japan and buying coffee from the vending machine in the language school lobby after the 15-minute walk in heavy rain to get there and feeling like I saw God after the first sip.

My green contact lenses tried to kill me every time I put them on I think it's because they dryed out once. I'll have to buy new ones

Second day I barely stepped out of the accommodation when I came face to face with people cosplaying Yu, Yosuke and Yukiko and for a solid 20 seconds we all just did the Spiderman pointing meme and went "oh my god!!!" Got photos <3 The best thing that has ever happened to me has been topped.

It has been topped yet again: BATTLE LOVER SCARLET COSPLAY!! AT A FINNISH CONVENTION!!! IN 2024!!!! I was soooooo awkward and awestruck throughout that interaction. My god. My word. My fuck. Mind blown

Love is not over

We battle on

We persist

Boueibu is forever

If you don't know what I'm talking about get the hell out of here (joking) (only on this last bullet point though) (Boueibu is the most important anime that exists)

[posttexasstressdisorder]

"The best revenge..."

...is living and eating WELL while (and in spite of) living in poverty.

I actually had the gumption to try and have a cafe 30 or so years ago, and I live with a guy who had his own bakery: a Danish-trained Chef currently working as a Sous Chef at a big hotel in The City, and his 21 yr old son (who has literally been an assistant sous chef to his dad his whole life).

We're all barely afloat, his son is looking for his first real job-job "out there", and getting discouraged. Y'all hear regularly about my poverty status, and my roomie chef is doin' as much as he can, and we're all three freakin' broke.

Fuck it. We may be broke, but we are are gonna Eat as best we can with what we got. So to the current example.

Yes, I know how to cook Mexican Food like any native ex-south-texan worth his salt and lime. Yes I learned how mama/grandma did it, either mine or someone else's.

Roomie and I are carnivores, son is veg. We all agree that Mexican Food is good, so I'm always looking for how to spend my "old-fuck-on-food-stamps EBT the best way.

Behold, Example 1: 20 lb. bag of dried pinto beans.

20 lbs for $17. And lookee there: it's Fiesta, no stranger to this former Austinite. And anyone who knows knows that this boy knows how to make a pot o'pintos, with/without carnivorousness. Keep 'em on the stove long enough you got Refrieds.

Somebody at Groce-Out is from Texas, gotta be: They have Velveeta and Rotel (for QUESO!) at near-normal prices! I laughed today. Velveeta was 6.99 at Groce-Out, and I shit you not, $14.95 at Lucky.

Got that along with a couple 2-lb bags of their "Hollis Street" whole bean French Roast (Dark) for $11.95 ea. This is surprisingly good coffee beanage, freshly roasted right up the road in Emeryville, evidently. So good coffee for cheap. A similar brand at the 'non discount' grocery store I go to is $21 for a 2lb bag.

While they aren't the winner in the coffee bean competition, Lucky (the non-discount store) is great for meat, especially mid-week, when they have lots of specials. Their "megapaks" of chicken thighs (10/pkg) were buy one get one free. So for ten bucks, I got 20 thighs (over 7lbs), which, when roasted with lots of salt and pepper, and cooled and shredded and deboned become something like 4 pounds of Chicken Enchilada Meat. For ten bucks.

Tomorrow I go to another discount store closeby roomie told me about that has the best commercial Hatch Chile in a jar I have ever found. Tastes like mine, when we would get a case at a time at Central Market, get 'em roasted in the parking lot, and take 'em home and shuck most of the the skins/seeds, and saute onion and garlic and add. In. A. Fucking. Jar.

So you see where this is heading.

We will be having a TexMex Enchilada/taco Feast that can be repeated at will until we've eaten/given enough away. Freezer. Vacuum sealer. Oooooooom.

And yeah, we got the dessert thing covered. I buy flour, the three sugars, butter, real cream, good organic milk, good brown eggs. I bake everything from fucking scratch. I buy berries and grapes as my main fruit. I don't buy a lot of processed ANYTHING. I buy ingredients. And bread/tortillas, obvs. And I'm happy I have the "card" that gives me my eeked-out apportionment of "food funds".

So that old adage of "The Best Revenge" being "living well" means we may be fucking poor, but goddammit, we are gonna Eat, with a capital E if I have anything to say about it.

All three of us are pretty much clinging to the same leaky life-raft, this accursed but oh-so-necessary apartment, not much overlap in our lives/diets/schedules, but every once in awhile I get to go back into "restaurant mode" and do up a Massive Feed. Share with the neighbors and stock the freezer.

And a pot of beans on the stove in perpetuity.

[onyxbird]

In Their Name

Summary:

They were widely considered to be one of the best in the business—in any business—at deciphering encoded messages from supervillains. It was a weird form of job security for a reporter, but in a world of superheros and supervillains, you take what you can get.

This message, however, was from the Overlord, the longest-standing and most mystery-shrouded supervillain in the city. It was by far the longest decoding task of the reporter's career... and the strangest format. (AO3 link here.)

...

“EVIL WILL RISE. WE ARE LEGION. ALL HAIL THE OVERLORD WHO SHALL REIGN OVER THIS LAND. PROSPERITY AND PLENTY ARE THE PRIZE OF THOSE WHO JOIN OUR CAU.”

The reporter sat back from their whiteboard and sipped their tea.

They were widely considered to be one of the best in the business—in any business—at deciphering encoded messages from supervillains. It was a weird form of job security. The newspaper loved it, of course, because it ensured them the scoop on whatever the latest supervillain was up to. They had initially worried about getting on supervillains' radar, but, ultimately, the villains wanted their messages to be deciphered—otherwise there was no reason to encode a coherent message. In fact, the reporter was fairly certain some of the paper's anonymous tip-offs came directly from the villains themselves.

Hero organizations and law enforcement were probably the worst part of the deal. They needed the help, but they wanted the decoded messages kept under wraps and especially didn't want it advertised that the newspaper managed to decipher the clues before the police. The paper and the cops had come to a detente of sorts years ago: the paper continued to publish whatever deciphered messages they saw fit, and the closest hero league got a courtesy heads-up with the deciphered message before it hit the front page. The paper didn't call attention to the fact that the superheroes and the cops couldn't figure it out without help… unless the other side started trash-talking first. (They seemed to have learned after the first few times.)

This message had been by far the longest decoding job of the reporter's career.

“The Evil Overlord” had been taunting their foes for years that their manifesto was openly published and that no one had managed to find and decipher it yet. Every word and image they released had been pored over by investigators, journalists, scholars, and hobbyists in search of hidden meaning. There was plenty of fodder for the search. Overlord had their fingers in pies all over the area.

Hell, there was an entire collection of local businesses in the region that everyone knew to be a front for Overlord. Owners Erik, Victoria, Isobel, and Lyle, the self-proclaimed children of their ever-masked villainous parent, made no secret of their allegiance. Out-of-towners were generally baffled that no one had shut down a known supervillain-owned business front, even if no one had been dig up admissible evidence of legal wrongdoing on the part of the business itself. Locals mostly shrugged—law enforcement and the superhero league together had failed to touch Overlord and their organization for decades; what else was new? Legally the businesses were squeaky clean, the prices were pretty good, and their staff was well-paid and well-treated, with competitive benefits. If your city was stuck with a resident supervillain, might as well reap what fringe benefits you could, right?

Their advertising, signage, and even coupon fine print had been scrutinized for hidden messages almost as much as Overlord's overt proclamations of doom, with absolutely no luck in finding the fabled “manifesto.” They did occasionally conceal a marketing easter egg, e.g., a passphrase or set of instructions to collect a free “Evil, Inc.” coffee mug. (The reporter had the entire collection: Nine were displayed on the shelf above their desk; the latest one, a rainbow-themed June design with each full-height letter of “EVIL, INC” in a different color, contained their current cup of tea.)

They were all looking in the wrong place.

To be fair, it had taken the reporter a long time to figure it out themselves, even with their experience.

It was common knowledge, of course, that Overlord's own children's names spelled out “EVIL.” They frequently highlighted it themselves—it was, after all, the official explanation for why they called their businesses “Evil, Inc.” And on the face of it, that was a simple, self-contained joke—the Overlord had only four children.

…Right?

The reporter no longer recalled exactly what had drawn their attention to the employee birth announcements in the first place, but they did remember the names they'd noticed in that first batch: Hadley, Arwen, Ivy, and Liam. HAIL.

It was a minor thing, easily explained by sheer coincidence, or by the newsletter author having some fun with acronyms once they saw the collection of names. They probably wouldn't even have registered it if it hadn't been an announcement from the local acronym-of-sibling-initials company. And at the time, no one else was really looking—those births long pre-dated Overlord's earliest claims of having published an undiscovered “manifesto.” But the reporter hadn't become a supervillain decryption expert by not chasing patterns down just for curiosity's sake.

Finding the earlier parts of the message wasn't trivial. Access to back issues of the employee newsletter wasn't exactly front and center in the company's public-facing communications; the early formatting and wording of the announcements had varied, and, in perhaps the biggest hurdle to deciphering the message, not every employee's baby was part of the pattern.

Still, once you tracked down all the announcements and figured out the indicators that flagged which ones were part of the message, it was a simple a matter of listing the names in the order announced (not always corresponding to birth order) and adding some spaces and punctuation.

Walker, Ian, Lucy and Lily (twins). Regina, Ibrahim, Sara, Eli. William and Earl. Ana, Robert, Evie. Lori, Edward (Jr.), Gabriela, Imani and Omari (twins again), Nathan. Allison, Laci, Laetitia.

The reporter had been quietly keeping track ever since, watching the message slowly, slowlyunfold. It was about at the point the message hit “who shall reign” that they started to suspect Overlord had never intended this to become a thing and just wasn't sure how to end the “tradition” without insulting the next employee who wanted to include their baby. (“Prize” had been a particularly amusing section to observe—whoever organized this effort had clearly gone to some contortions in terms of message planning and announcement order to make little Zachary the 3rd, aka “Tripp,” fit into the message.)

The phone on their desk chimed a gentle reminder—one hour until Jason's Little League game. The Evil, Inc.-sponsored team, the Minions of Darkness (also home to four of the letters in “Prosperity”: Peter, Ollie, Ignacio “Nacho,” and Tyler) had been having a blast this season, and Jason had been bouncing off the walls all week about their upcoming game against the Metropolis Lions.

Lyle, who ran the Evil grocery store closest to the baseball field, always supplied snacks for the team, and the reporter had promised to swing by and pick them up on the way. (They wondered, as they had many times before, whether they should ask if his parent wanted their “manifesto” to be revealed or to remain a mystery to those who didn't find it for themselves.)

They sorted the latest Evil, Inc., birth announcement (Angela and Uri) into the folder with the rest, scrubbed all traces of the message off of the whiteboard, and flipped off the lights on the way out of their office.

Hopefully Lyle included some of Evil's store-brand alphabet cookies this week. They tended to forestall the away team's commentary about the terrors of living in a city with an active supervillain, and besides, all the kids loved them!

[foodandfolklore]

Loblaws Boycott. How to get affordable food?

Today is May 1st; which means it is the start of the Loblaws Boycott across Canada. For those unfamiliar with the situation, food prices in Canada have been climbing to astronomical sums. Our main chain Grocery Stores keep increasing prices beyond what is normal inflation. Because they know as Mortals, we need to eat. And the further north you go, the worse it gets. They have already been caught artificially raising Bread prices a few years back, and blaming the price hike on the War in Ukraine. They set a price, We pay for it, and then they keep the price cause clearly people are willing to pay /s

So a boycott has been organized by people of Canada through social media and has even been talked about by TV News Outlets. The idea being to speak with your wallet and pressure change. The problem for many, however, is...Loblaws is just so massive, they don't see other alternatives. They own No Frills, Great Canadian Superstore, Shoppers Drugmart, and a ton more. For many Canadians, it seems like Loblaws is their only option in their area.

So I want to provide a list of some options for people to still get fed. Or even if you don't want to engage in the boycott, you just wanna find affordable food.

Costco and Walmart If a friend of family member has a Costco Membership and is willing to take you with them, do it. The workers there don't police who has the membership, so long as someone has one. You can bulk buy a bunch of staples like Meat, Cheese, Toilet Paper and Coffee for much cheaper in the long run. However, Buying in bulk is not always feasible for everyone. They either don't have the space or they can't afford to drop a few hundred dollars on a single shop. Walmart is a controversial suggestion because they have some....history. And your values may require you to not shop at Walmart. But if you need some accessible groceries for reasonable prices, Walmart actually has a very good selection.

2) International/Local Stores This is not really an option if you live more rural. But if you can find a nearby Asian Grocer or Halal Store you can get a lot of stuff. And not just rice. Legumes, Beans, Meat, Seafood; you'd be surprised how much you can get. You may also find a gem of a bakery or butcher.

3) Farmers Markets It's getting to growing season in Canada. Be Sure to check your near by Farmers Markets. You'll mostly find Fruits and Veggies, but may also be some local honey and eggs if you're lucky. This is also a great option for people who feel eating Organic food is important.

4) Food Waste Apps There is a surprising amount of apps dedicated to preventing food waste by selling you food that is about to be thrown away. The food is still good, and the reason for Discarding varies, but commonly it's because it's approaching it's best before date or Expiration date. Food can still be consumed after it's best before date, so long as it's not spoilt. Different areas will have different Levels of Activity on Different apps. A store needs to opt in before you can buy anything. So check out a few different ones. Flash Foods, Food Hero, and Too Good to Go are popular.

5) Ugly Food Boxes A lot of food gets chucked cause it doesn't conform to our expectation of how that food should look. It grew in a weird way and despite being totally fine to eat; Stores don't want to sell them. So you can get Subscription Boxes of Ugly Produce. Which I think is kinda fun. I remember being younger and my mom pointing out the funny shaped peppers. This isn't entirely a new concept, and many people would of probably heard of Imperfect Foods. However, this is a USA only service; useless to us Canadians. But we can try Odd Bunch or Eat Impact. The bonus with this is it's delivered directly to you. Great for people like myself who can't Drive but love to cook.

6) Meal Kits You see it all the time on Youtube: Try Hello Fresh and get so many meals free, yada yada. Well....it might be worth a try. You can cancel these kits at any time, and them hop back on them later. Like a streaming service. A friend of mine apparently does this. Ordering a box when the value of what they're offering is worth the price to her. Not a great option if you tend to forget to cancel subscriptions *cough* (Hi) but it can be a really smart way to get exactly what you want for a good price. Plus if you use a sponsor code, or a coupon in the mail.... Hello Fresh and Make Good Food are the two more well known meal kits available in Canada.

[centralparkcollection]

A Brief History of Notting Hill

Notting Hill is one of London’s most beautiful neighbourhoods. Known for its pastel-hued townhouses, bohemian energy, and bustling antique market, this area attracts families, couples, and solo explorers staying at hotels near Paddington Station. However, Notting Hill has a curious history that you might not be familiar with. Read over our history of Notting Hill over your morning tea. 

13th Century – Knottynghull

Historical records date Notting Hill as far back as the 13th century when it was known as Knottynghull. The origin of the settlement is much contested, with arguments that it was founded by the Vikings, Saxons, 

18th Century – Potteries and Piggeries

During the 18th century, the Notting Hill area was associated with pottery makers and pig farmers. 

Most of the kilns are long gone however one does remain on Walmer Road opposite Avondale Road. A blue plaque stands in tribute and recognises the poverty experienced by local residents at this time. We recommend that history-loving guests of hotels near Paddington Station swing by to see this unique piece of history. 

19th Century – Ladbroke Estate 

The landowner James Weller Ladbroke and architect Thomas Allason started to develop the area as a suburb. 

Known as the Ladbroke Estate, their vision was to establish this as a trendy, upscale residential region for upper middle class families. Residents of the terrace houses would have access to communal lawns, such as Ladbroke Square Garden – the largest of all the private square gardens in the capital. 

Over time, this development drew in the elite with an appreciation of the arts and culture. 

Although the construction of the Hippodrome racecourse was laid out in 1837, it didn’t quite go to plan, partly due to the heavy clay in the terrain. After abandoning the project after less than five years, this area was transformed into more housing. Streets including Blenheim Crescent and Elgin Crescent trace where the Hippodrome briefly stood.

20th century – War, Rachmanism, and Carnival 

During the first half of the 20th century, many properties in Notting Hill were split into multiple occupation residences. Tenants would rent a private bedroom for a cheap price, sharing the kitchen, bathroom, and lounge with other residents. 

Notting Hill, as with most of London, experienced major building damage during the Blitz in World War II. As the city emerged from the conflict, landowners took advantage of impoverishment by exploiting their lodgers even further and many buildings became slums. Polish-born Peter Rachman was one of the most infamous landlords to operate in the area. 

Following the influx of Afro-Caribbean families in Notting Hill as a result of the 1948 British Nationality Act, the Notting Hill Carnival became an important means of celebrating the multiculturality of the district. 

Held in 1966, the inaugural festival was primarily designed as a street party for children. The musician Russell Hendersen was closely involved, performing with his steel pan band at the event that launched the carnival. 

Nowadays, the carnival occurs every Summer Bank Holiday and prompts visitors from afar to check into hotels near Paddington Station.

21st century

Another notable development following the war was the transformation of a simple produce market into one of London’s coolest shopping attractions.

Portobello Road Market is famed for the antique stalls that line the thoroughfare on Fridays and Saturdays. In addition, tourists can wander past pastel-hued terrace houses, peek into the garden squares, and sip on organic coffee at boutique cafes. 

[lagycart]

tokyo tohoku trip - day 12.

starting the day at tsukiji outer market 築地場外市場, even though the fish market has moved to toyosu, this area remains very popular for fresh seafood and lots of other street food. we came here on a wednesday so a lot of stores are closed, it also means there should be less people, some stores are still super crowded though.

we walked around the market and tried a few street food, fresh sashimi from 築地 斉藤水産, the seafood variety here is plenty, you can ask them what is good for the day as well, everything looks super yummy. all the fish, prawn and sea urchin we ate was really good, very tasty and enjoyable. followed by grilled scallops from 築地うなぎ食堂, which also has grilled eel and other shellfish, another popular option among the crowd. last but not least, tamagoyaki from 築地 山長 is definitely a must-eat, especially for egg lovers like myself, it’s just so fluffy and i like to eat this while it’s freshly cooked.

for lunch, my friend and i went to shutoku 2nd store at tsukiji 秀徳2号店 for the omakase meal, we were served tamagoyaki, 10 pieces of sushi made from various local freshly caught fish, a handroll and miso soup. the chef prepared all the fishes and shell food first before starting to make the sushi. it’s a very enjoyable process to watch as the chef do wonders right in front of you. each fish is very fresh, has slight different texture and taste, and is complimented by various condiments which enhance the flavor. the meal was very satisfying and enjoyable, this was our second visit already.

we grab coffee after the meal at a rustic coffee store - yonemoto coffee 米本珈琲 本店, this store has so many different kind of coffee beans, and the coffee jelly i got is so yummy too. definitely a good place to visit for a great cuppa. after the coffee break, i head to shibuya on my own to continue my exploration, as shibuya has changed a lot recently.

i first did some stationery and souvenir shopping at loft, this is my favorite store to go to as it just has so many things to see and buy, and always something new to discover. they also offer duty free shopping which is very convenient too. after that, i went to shibuya scramble square, a new shopping mall that is super popular right now, to visit shibuya sky, the latest and hottest rooftop observation deck at the moment. i made reservation beforehand, so its very easy to get in with the QR code provided. they have lockers for visitors to store your things which is not allowed on the deck.

the deck is very spacious and windy, and there’s lots of tourists around, there’s also photography service which you can queue up for, otherwise you are free to roam around and take as many photos as you like, and stay as long as you wish to. as the sun goes down, the weather turns cold really quick though, but the sunset was very beautiful to watch. there’s some seating area and hammock and a helipad too. with a rooftop bar at one side which opens at night. it is definitely enjoyable to visit if you like the city view a lot and just wanna feel cool breeze.

when the sky starts to turn dark, i decided to leave and went down the building, and by chance, i found tokyu hands ハンズ on the 10th floor, and did more shopping, this is also one of my favorite place to shop for japanese stationery and home and living items. and this new store at shibuya scramble square is well organized and easy to look around too.

my last stop before heading back home is visiting the mega donki Megaドン・キホーテ渋谷本店 to purchase some souvenirs for friends and family, as this stores is so big, they have anything and everything that you wanna buy at a rather competitive price. i bought quite a few japanese snacks here, the options are endless and it’s also very reasonably priced. only downside is the paying process is long and painful as there’s only limited staff working at the counters for duty free checkout.

for dinner, my friend has prepared a feast at home for the both of us, she bought so many fresh ingredients and cooked a delicious and heartwarming meal. there’s grilled fish, pumpkin, miso soup, fresh vegetables and more. everything is really yummy, and we had a great meal and it’s so just relaxing to be able to have a homecooked meal. our meal ends with the egg pudding i got from shimokitazawa a day before, which is so creamy and the egg taste is really fragrant and rich and not really sweet at all.

to be continued...